“And?”
“He patted her on the head and said she was indulging a flight of fancy, I am led to believe.”
“Perhaps she was.”
“And perhaps she was not! She says she has no confidencein that man and that he has dismissed her symptoms for weeks in a row. She is desperate in fact, Mr Darcy.”
“And what canyoudo for her?” he asked with a sneer.
“I beg your pardon?” I asked coldly.
“Forgive me. What do you propose to do for Mrs Travers?”
“I have written to my aunt in London, asking her to deliver a private letter to my uncle’s acquaintance, who is a physician. I solicited another opinion on the matter, sir.”
“And what did you intend to do with this new opinion, madam?”
“Mr Darcy,” I said while glaring at Mr Johnson, “I am not averse to speaking of this in detail with you, but I would much rather not do so as though I am being questioned by committee.”
“Leave us,” Mr Darcy barked at his steward.
“Before you go,” I said coldly, “perhaps you might explain to my husband why I must conduct this interview while standing.”
“That was badly done of me, Mrs Darcy. I beg your pardon.”
“Indeed, it was badly done. Perhaps in a day or two I might be in a humour to laugh at it.”
“Of what are you speaking?” my husband demanded.
“As I have said, Mr Johnson should account for himself—perhaps when we are done discussing the current difficulty.”
“I will be in my office, if you will send for me, sir,” the steward said, then he excused himself.
As soon as we were alone, Mr Darcy spoke. “What is this contretemps with Johnson?”
“I believe we were speaking about the advice of the London doctor. When it arrived, I had thought to consult you. And that, sir, is the end of the matter.”
He seemed to deflate a little. “Is her complaint really so bad?”
“I thought it sounded dreadful. I never heard the like of it.”
“And you are sure you are not equal to telling me? Mr and Mrs Travers have been on this estate all their lives. Theirs is one of our principal farms. I will own I am concerned.”
I also deflated a little at the less confrontational tone he used. “Perhaps you should be aware, but you must treat this matter as utterly confidential. I would be too embarrassed to tell you directly, but if you ring for Harrison, I will break the seal on my letter to the doctor and you may read it.”
He pledged to keep the matter confidential but seemed to suffer genuine reluctance once he had got his way. Perhaps he was acutely aware how intrusive he was to demand to know my private business. After a heavy pause, he sighed, rang the bell, and asked for my outgoing letters. While we waited, he said, “Are you sure you would not rather sit?”
“I am certain.”
“Precisely what did Johnson do to you?”
“You know I am only just learning to ride. Mr Johnson took me to meet the tenants—all the way to the Travers’s cottage—and insinuated that if I did not go mounted, I would be despised by all your people.”
“I see. I will speak to him.”
“I wish you would not. Let him confess the matter to you, and let that be the end of it. I have learnt he is not someone I can readily trust.” I sniffed.
“Johnson is trustworthy, I assure you.”
